


Five Kisses and a Little Something Else

by monchy



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 09:45:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monchy/pseuds/monchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they kiss, is because of a dare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Kisses and a Little Something Else

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Cinq Baisers et un Petit Quelque Chose en Plus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6084384) by [Bepopalula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bepopalula/pseuds/Bepopalula)
  * Translation into Polski available: [Five Kisses and a Little Something Else PL](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6283945) by [rossieash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rossieash/pseuds/rossieash)



The first time they kiss, is because of a dare.  
           
Anakin really should know better than playing silly girl games, but he can’t help but being taunted into challenges, and so he always ends up digging his own tomb. But damn, he had thought he would have to do something ridiculous enough to satisfy the morbid minds of some of the other padawans, but this? He doesn’t know who had the brilliant idea, but once he does, he’s so kicking his ass.  
           
Anakin is fifteen years old, which means that his Master must be around thirty. Still, Obi-Wan looks rather young, and that’s probably why he’s trying to grow this cool beard that makes Anakin think that maybe he misses Qui-Gon more than he lets on. Right now, it’s only just a bit of scruff, and Anakin would be lying if he says he hasn’t thought about how the soft scratch would feel against his own clean skin.  
           
Obi-Wan is sitting in the Gardens, possibly finishing his daily meditation, when Anakin approaches him, feeling the heavy eyes of the rest of the padawans on his back. He shivers a little when he sits in front of his Master, and Obi-Wan gives him a questioning look, because it is rather hot outside. Anakin opens his mouth, willing to say something, but then makes the rushed decision of getting this over and done with.  
           
It can’t be called a kiss, not really. Anakin is just pressing his lips against Obi-Wan’s, but he’s not even trying to make any pressure. His eyes are open, and so are Obi-Wan’s, which are staring at him in their deepest shade of blue, more stunned than disgusted. Anakin stays latched to his lips for a few seconds, more like some kind of leech than another human being, and then moves back, blinking his dry eyes.  
           
There’s at least a minute of silence between them, which is broken by the excited screams of the other padawans behind them. As soon as Obi-Wan spots them, they run away, laughing. Anakin lowers his head, blushing furiously, too embarrassed to apologize, but Obi-Wan just ruffles his hair, and when Anakin looks up, he’s smiling.  
   
“Maybe you should consider the consequences before involving yourself in a Truth or Dare game next time, padawan.”  
   
And then Anakin laughs, and the whole incident is forgotten.

***  
   
The second time they kiss, Anakin is dying.  
           
Well, so the healers say he has cold, but what do they know anyway? He’s dying, and if he’s not, then death must feel pretty much like this. His head is throbbing as if a little person wanted to get out, his nose is like a fucking broken pipe, his throat is sore and dry, he’s sweaty, but cold, food tastes like vomit, and his back is killing him.  
   
“I’m dying,” he says to the room, matter-of-factly.  
   
Obi-Wan just rolls his eyes – again – and puts a cold towel on his forehead, ruffling his sweaty curls softly. Sometimes Anakin wonders why Obi-Wan is such a dear, taking care of his overgrown former padawan, who turns into a whiny girl when pain even threatens him. Must be one of the reasons why Anakin loves him so much, but that doesn’t mean he understands it, not really.  
   
Anakin rolls on the bed and buries his face in the pillow. He would beg to be unconscious right now, and now that he thinks about it, maybe he has, some time ago. When he is about to ask to be killed again, Obi-Wan’s hands come to rest on his shoulders, and before Anakin has time to tense or protest, or mouth to Obi-Wan not to touch him like that because it really turns him on (not that he would do _that_ ), those fingers are moving painfully slow over the knots on his shoulder blades, and Anakin is in paradise. He mumbles something he doesn’t even understand, and then moans just a little into the pillow.  
   
“Really, Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s voice is a low rumble, fluttering around Anakin’s ears and making his headache all the worse, probably because his blood is trying to decide where to go at this point, “with all the reckless things you do – “ and his hand skates down his spine, making Anakin shudder “ – I can’t believe it’s a cold what has you in bed.”  
   
“Not a cold,” he murmurs, scooting closer to heaven-turned-into-hands. “I’m dying.”  
   
“I’m sure you are.” Obi-Wan is chuckling then, but Anakin couldn’t care less, because all his brain is receiving now is the fact that Obi-Wan’s hands are warm and perfect on his back, stroking as if they had a map of his muscles. Then again, maybe they do, because living a Jedi life doesn’t allow any privacy at all, and Anakin and Obi-Wan have seen all there is to see of each other after so many years fighting side by side.  
   
 Anakin is dizzy, and his vision is starting to blur, so he closes his eyes and does his best effort to get just the tiniest bit closer to Obi-Wan’s sitting form. His breathing is slowing down, and he knows he’s dragging himself into a barely awake, half passed out state that is bound to end up with too many hours spent on the very same he is laying on.  
   
“Obi-Wan,” he whines, and pushes his muscles so they collaborate with him and help him turn around. It’s Obi-Wan who does that himself, pulling from his chest until his face is looking up and his back flush against the mattress. He’s sweating, and he can feel his hair sticking to his forehead, damp and uncomfortable, and his breath coming out in fast and hot puffs of air.  
   
Obi-Wan leans closer, just enough to invade all of Anakin’s field of view, and then his hand is soft and caring on his forehead, removing his hair while his lips draw a little concerned smile. “You should really try to get some sleep,” murmurs Obi-Wan, low enough that the sound doesn’t bounce against Anakin’s skull.  
   
 Anakin nods, and regrets it the second his head pounds in protest. Obi-Wan’s hand is still on his forehead, and his face is close and warm and nice, and Anakin doesn’t know what he’s doing but he manages to bring a hand up and behind Obi-Wan’s neck and pull him down and onto his mouth. Anakin kisses him. It tastes tangy and acid, but it doesn’t matter, because through his sickened and clouded senses, Anakin can feel Obi-Wan kissing back, and that’s all that matters, because it’s Obi-Wan and his mouth moving slow and wet against his.  
   
 When Anakin wakes up the next day, feeling better and almost fine, Obi-Wan isn’t there. When they meet, Obi-Wan touches his hand to his forehead, and murmurs, “well, it looks like the fever is gone now.”  
   
 He doesn’t mention the incident, and Anakin chooses to imitate him, because he knows he won’t be able to take the refusal coming out of Obi-Wan’s lips.  
   
***  
   
The third time they kiss, Anakin is scared and desperate and angry.  
   
Anakin has a bad feeling about the mission from the moment the words start coming out of Windu’s mouth. Something settles on the back of his neck, a soft tickling that tells him that danger is crawling around them and that it won’t be settled until it’s fed with blood. He doesn’t want Obi-Wan to go, and that’s exactly what he tells him. Obi-Wan says it's just a feeling, which is something bound to happen to every Jedi, being as they’re all so attuned to everything around them. Still, Anakin is almost never wrong, and when he says his goodbyes to Obi-Wan from the platform, he crushes him in a hug and tells him to be as careful as he can. Obi-Wan jokes, says he’s the impulsive one. Then he leaves.  
   
 Anakin stays at the Temple, focusing on the tasks he’s been given. A couple of classes here, a speeder to fix there, a drink with Quinlan, and almost all of his days are consumed. In his free time, he trains, if only because the exercise tires him enough that he doesn’t have to think about the tingle that it’s still there. He wishes, for once, that someone would listen.  
   
On the sixth day out on his mission, Obi-Wan disappears. Anakin doesn’t have access to the reports, and he finds out only because Quinlan insists that he must. The Council doesn’t trust him not to go searching the world for his Master, destroying political pacts on his way, and they are right to do so.  
   
 “Now listen to me,” Quinlan tells him, a hand on his arm and his eyes fixed upon him. He looks fearless and imposing, an image far away from his usual goofy self. “There’s nothing you can do, so sit and wait.”  
   
  “But–”  
   
"Skywalker.” And that’s a direct order from Master Vos, rather than a friendly request. Anakin knows, though, that if Quinlan isn’t encouraging a secret mission to rescue Obi-Wan, then there’s nothing for them to do.  
   
It kills Anakin. He waits and waits and waits, and pictures the worse scenarios. There is a reason why they fight together, Obi-Wan and him, and that’s that they are so connected that it is almost impossible to harm them both at the same time. But when one fights without the other… Anakin trembles, and punches the wall and shakes with rage, because he can’t take this doing nothing when Obi-Wan might be hurting.  
   
Two days pass a no one knows anything. Three days more and Obi-Wan will be declared dead. Only he can’t die, because he is Obi-Wan fucking Kenobi, and as far as Anakin believes, he is indestructible.  
   
He feels the grief catching up with him on the third day, when tingles of fear and rage are suddenly changed by a hole of sadness that promises to feed itself until it kills Anakin if Obi-Wan doesn’t come back. Anakin can’t imagine a life that doesn’t include his Master, he doesn’t even dare to think about it, because it’s too painful. His heart aches, and he wants to scream and run, but all he does is wait, clutching his pillow, and begging for whatever higher power that there’s out there to please, just let him have Obi-Wan safe and unharmed.  
   
Obi-Wan comes back the seventh day after he has disappeared. He crosses the door to Anakin’s quarters, and Anakin doesn’t stop to wonder why the Council isn’t intervening or why Obi-Wan isn’t being chased by Healers. Anakin launches forward and into Obi-Wan’s arms, cupping his face and crushing their lips together. It’s rough and bruising, and Anakin can taste the salty flavor of his own tears on his lips. Later, they won’t talk about it, while Anakin convinces Obi-Wan to go the Healers Wing because he’s badly hurt, and to get a nice night of sleep, because he looks exhausted and drained. Now, though, now it doesn’t matter, because Obi-Wan’s lips are there, and they say _Obi-Wan_ and _alive_ and _thank you_ and _home._  
   
***  
   
The fourth time they kiss, they do a lot more than kissing.  
   
 They are away from the Temple; have been for the past two months. They have fought and bled and hurt, but everything is finally over, and there’s a party going on. The night is young, the music loud, the alcohol runs free, and when Obi-Wan licks his lips, dragging his tongue over red skin deliberately slow, Anakin can’t take it anymore.  
   
He dives in. He does it slowly, studying the change of light in Obi-Wan’s eyes as his face approaches inch by inch. Anakin swallows hard, and reminds himself that he is drunk, and that he wouldn’t be doing this otherwise, but Obi-Wan’s eyes won’t leave his, and his lips are wet, and his mouth parted. Anakin doesn’t really know if it’s an invitation, but he takes it as such anyway.  
   
Anakin doesn’t know, either, if Obi-Wan is drunk or not, but there is only so much self-control he can force himself to have. He breathes Obi-Wan in, and he does smell of sweet brandy, but also of cinnamon and skin and sweat. Anakin bites his lower lip softly, barely grazing it with his teeth, and as the bright fireworks shine blue and green behind them, high on the dark night sky, he leans the last necessary bit, and places his lips above Obi-Wan’s.  
   
It isn’t like every other time, and at the same it is. There’s a contradiction, a sense of _moremoreplease_ behind him, but Anakin takes his time, fitting his lips with Obi-Wan’s as if they were long separated pieces of a puzzle. Obi-Wan sighs under his lips, and then they part and seek along his, pliant and soft. It kind of reminds Anakin of all the things Obi-Wan does, in which he may seem like he’s letting himself go, but is always in control. It amazes Anakin; all of Obi-Wan amazes Anakin.  
   
It’s funny how they move, a little bit desperate but never fast, as if afraid that any sudden move might break the moment. Still, they are soon flush against each other, Obi-Wan’s arms around Anakin’s waist, urging him closer, clutching him as if afraid he will run away. Anakin puts both hands to Obi-Wan’s hair, and caresses the soft auburn strands while guiding Obi-Wan’s mouth upwards and into his own, thinking that he can never get enough of this.  
   
They find the way back to their room somehow, too aware of each other’s moves to pay attention to any other thing. It is Obi-Wan who falls onto the bed, and Anakin follows, keeping his mouth attached to any piece of skin he can find, and dragging lips and tongue slowly against it. Obi-Wan shudders and writhes under him, caressing his face and his hair with soft strokes. It’s slow and good, and every touch tastes of fire.  
   
It might have been hours or minutes, but it ends up with naked sweaty skin sliding against naked sweaty skin. Anakin doesn’t want to drag it, and yet he does, because he has Obi-Wan tonight, and he doesn’t know when the illusion is going to break. He brings his hands down Obi-Wan’s back, and feels Obi-Wan’s leg wrapping around his thigh, as if screaming closer, closer, closer.  
   
The room is almost silent, but for the sound of ragged kisses and sudden pants. It’s dark and it smells of sex and Obi-Wan and Anakin, and Anakin knows this is it for him. This is what he wants, what he needs, what he is going to clutch forever to keep from falling every time he stumbles over a rock.  
   
Obi-Wan’s hands are roaming his back, his ass, his hair, as if they wanted to take him all in at the same time. Anakin feels him shift under him, and he goes with the movement, letting himself go, and detaching himself from any coherent thought. It’s Obi-Wan, and it’s him, and that’s all Anakin needs to know.  
   
When they kiss for the last before falling asleep, Anakin recognizes the taste of apples on Obi-Wan’s mouth, and the smell of vanilla on his shoulder. He keeps it, and puts it away in his little box of precious memories, and swears never to forget.  
   
The next morning, Obi-Wan is gone, and it’s alright, Anakin can do the not talking about it thing. It hurts, though.  
   
***  
   
The fifth time they kiss, they do it right.  
   
“I’m so tired.” Anakin let’s all his weight drag him down into a sprawled position on the sofa, and then throws his hand over his eyes in a melodramatic gesture of tiredness. “I’m never going to move again.”  
   
Obi-Wan chuckles. Anakin knows he’s close to him, because he can feel his presence, warm next to his. He hears his footsteps as Obi-Wan walks away and into the bathroom, and also the rustle of fabric as Obi-Wan leaves his cloak on the back of a brown couch. He returns moments later, and Anakin feels the space next to him sink with Obi-Wan’s weight.  
   
“Let me see that.” Obi-Wan grabs his wrist softly, and moves his arm away from his face. He eyes the wound on Anakin’s forehead warily, and then moves his hand up and around it, pressing a warm, wet cloth on his still blood-stained skin.  
   
Anakin hisses. “Ow.” He also pouts, just for the added effect.  
   
“Don’t be a baby,” murmurs Obi-Wan, keeping his eyes on Anakin’s forehead and cleaning the wound carefully. “It has stopped bleeding.”  
   
Anakin smiles a little, if only because he knows it reassures Obi-Wan. Otherwise, he’ll keep his features scrunched in concern for a week. He leans onto the cloth, noticing just how warm it is; it’s something Obi-Wan does, never putting something cold on him. Obi-Wan knows Anakin hates cold, just as he knows everything there is to know about him.  
   
Anakin can’t help it. He brings his hand up and catches the one Obi-Wan is using to clean his wound, pressing it to his forehead. Obi-Wan’s skin is hot, but the little touch makes Anakin shiver.  
   
And that’s when Obi-Wan kisses him. It surprising and strange, because it’s Obi-Wan kissing him and not the other way around. Still, Anakin moves his lips against the pair above his, and it’s sweet, and soft, and simple. Obi-Wan’s lips say _I’m sorry_ and _I love you_ , and Anakin meets them eagerly, bringing his hands down to cup Obi-Wan’s face and force him closer still.  
   
They move against each other, and when Anakin’s head is buried inside the hollow of Obi-Wan’s neck, he murmurs, “now I’m so not going to move ever.”  
   
Obi-Wan chuckles, and Anakin smiles. He means it, though. He’s going to clutch Obi-Wan now that he has him, and he’s never going to let him go.


End file.
